


What She Never Had

by winryrockbae



Series: JeraltWeek2020 [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Gen, Good Parent Jeralt Reus Eisner, Jeralt Week (Fire Emblem), i called byleth slightly feral and i am standing by this wording, i have a lot of feelings about the eisner family, i'm literally weeks late for jeralt week but i cant help that im lazy unmotivated trash, it's a hill i will die on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:34:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24416719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winryrockbae/pseuds/winryrockbae
Summary: “Byleth. Are you … happy?”“A strange question.” A strange question for a strange girl, he almost said, but refrained as Byleth shrugged. “Of course I am. What else would I be?”“You don’t wish for a normal life?”My piece for day one of Jeralt Week, using the prompt Fatherhood
Series: JeraltWeek2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1763257
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19
Collections: Jeralt Week 2020!





	What She Never Had

**Author's Note:**

> Day One : Fatherhood

There wasn’t much that scared Jeralt Reus Eisner. In his many years of life he’d faced down monsters and men alike, fearlessly leading his knights through unknown territory towards countless enemies. And every time, whether by miles or by a sliver of a hair, they had always come out victorious. He was smart, strategic, and strong. Such a trio of traits possessed by one man meant that he should never have to worry. He’d figure it out, by brain or brawn he would be okay. 

So it made sense that there wasn’t much that could shake him. 

That is, until Sitri told him the news. 

It was the first time in decades that he had felt his stomach drop to his feet while his heart jumped into his throat, strangling him and robbing him of any words. Pregnant. His wife was pregnant. For all his wordly experience, he could confidently say he had no idea what the fuck he was supposed to do with a kid. His own father hadn’t been a model citizen by any means, so he didn’t have much to go off of by means of raising a child. 

Of course he was ecstatic, he wrapped his wife in a hug so tight that her laugh was nothing more than a soft puff of air against his throat, small hands tapped him on the arm for release. With tears of happiness in her eyes she pulled back, fingertips grazed the scar on his cheek as she told him very seriously, “You’ll break my spine, my love.” 

Their celebration carried onto their chambers that night, overwhelmed by passion and love. When they had untangled themselves from one another, satisfied and spent, the uncertainty and the worried thoughts came back to him. 

His rough fingers carded through his sleeping wife’s soft hair, absently braiding it as he looked down at her in her peaceful slumber. They were totally screwed. Sitri was sheltered, raised by the church. Jeralt had been raised mostly outside of its influence, only bending a knee when a debt to Rhea and paycheck from the Church of Seiros was too generous to ignore. Neither of them had a family dynamic to refer to when it came to a baby. And then there was Rhea to consider. Though she’d hardly given him reason, something about her didn’t sit quite right with him and he’d learned to trust his gut. Not since he met her, all those years ago, had she earned his complete trust. But Sitri would want to stay here, raise their child in the place she had been raised. And as always, he would secede to her demands. 

His own occupation came into question then, as he slid down the pillows and Sitri shifted towards him in her sleep. Her cheek was warm against his bare chest, her fingers curled against his stomach as she slept soundly. What would happen to her if he didn’t return from a mission? 

He was a great Captain, there was no doubt, but what if something should go wrong? He considered a few other paths as he drifted off to sleep, the last image in his mind was that of a blacksmith and he chuckled to himself as he imagined shoeing horses for a living. That just wouldn’t do, it was far too boring. 

**x x x**

It was hard to pin down a single emotion as he held his newborn child in his arms while next to him the crying nurse closed Sitri’s eyes and covered her beautiful face with a sheet. 

He’d heard that babies were supposed to cry and wail and scream when they were born, that their first moments in this world were so sudden they had no other reaction than to fill their lungs with air and release it in a piercing screech. But his child did not cry. The baby looked up at him with an almost otherworldly gaze and her watery but not tearful eyes watched him. 

His heart clenched, knowing that Sitri would never be able to hold their baby or look into those eyes that were so similar to hers. The nurse cleared out and the moment the door was shut, the tears he’d been desperately holding back started to drip down his cheeks and onto the round, chubby face of his daughter. Byleth. The name Sitri had wanted. 

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, the child watching him until falling asleep in his arms, perfectly content and unknowing that they were motherless. It was unfair, the tiny spark of anger that Jeralt felt towards the baby that didn’t even cry for her mother’s death. It was clear that there was something wrong, unnatural. Rhea’s nurses and doctors assured him that all was well, but what healthy baby didn’t wail as they entered the world? 

Consulting with an outside doctor was the first thing that Jeralt did following Sitri’s burial, he stood next to the grave with the infant in his arms despite Rhea’s offers to hold her. From the graveyard he left the Monastery and took the familiar road towards the town. 

He visited a doctor, an older gentleman who assured him that the baby was healthy except for one small detail. There was no heartbeat. The child didn’t laugh or cry or wail because of this, and even as she was prodded and examined by a stranger the newborn hardly made a sound other than a huff of discomfort here or there. The situation had Rhea’s handiwork all over it. 

That night at the Monastery there was a fire. 

**x x x**

It didn’t take him as long as he thought it would to learn to change a diaper, as if he had a choice. The lady of the inn he’d run to had been happy to help him and with a gaggle of children around her skirts he had gladly accepted any help she had to offer. Though her movements were fluid and practiced, it took several tries for him to get it right. 

But she taught him how to feed the baby, how to burp and swaddle her at night. Only once did she make an offhand comment about how quiet Blyeth was, wondering if the child was sick. 

“No, just quiet.” Jeralt assured her, and thankfully she had let it be. They stayed there for several nights, before Jeralt decided to move on once again. 

The first year of Byleth’s life was as such, hopping from inn to inn while Jeralt mourned his loss and navigated being a father. Byleth grew quickly, or normally, it wasn’t as if Jeralt really knew how fast babies were supposed to grow. But soon she was sitting on her own, inspecting the world by putting everything in her mouth, and eventually crawling. He spoke to her as if she were just a miniature adult, telling stories of Sitri and his days as a knight and Byleth always listened. 

Still, the child did not make a sound. A scraped knee or a nightmare, there were never any tears. Only small fingers curled tight around the hem of his shirt for comfort. 

As the months wore on and Byleth got older, Jeralt fell back into his mercenary habits. He accrued a crew and he finally felt a level of comfort. This was something he knew. Get a job, do the job, get paid. It was a bit strange to have an infant traveling with a band of mercenaries, but the men all seemed to adore the child that they didn’t understand. They never knew what Byleth was thinking, but Jeralt had gotten used to the wordless communication. When most kids would be speaking their first words, Byleth was quiet. Clearly understanding, but quiet all the same. She didn’t show emotion like other kids or much interest in playing, still as strange as the day she was born. 

Mostly she liked to listen to Jeralt’s stories or watch the men training. It was that preference that had Jeralt putting a training blade in her hand around her third birthday. If she was going to hang around mercenaries, she should know how to defend herself. It wasn’t as if Jeralt and his men were without enemies. 

As Byleth grew, so did her skill with any weapon handed to her. What has started as self defense training turned into training on the offense too. By the time Byleth was ten, or around ten (Jeralt had lost track of birthdays by this point) she was even more skilled than some of the mercenaries in the crew. 

“Heads up, kid.” Jeralt tossed a training weapon to Byleth nearly every afternoon he was without a job and he cherished the time spent with his child. Often he felt as though he hadn’t done well as a father, that he had chosen the wrong path by leaving the monastery, but Byleth proved him wrong time and time again. 

“Lances today?” Byleth questioned, catching the weapon without hesitation and spinning it between her hands. 

“Your lancework needs a bit of improvement.” He teased, smiling. His child didn’t smile back, but by the way she readied herself he knew that they understood his jest. It was the subtle movements, a flick of her wrist or a twist of her ankle into a sparring position. 

“It’s better than most of your mens.” She told him, deadpan, and Jeralt couldn’t help but burst into laughter. She wasn’t wrong, but her delivery could use some work. 

“If they hear you say that it’ll be a serious hit to morale. You’re still just a kid.” 

“Yeah.” Byleth agreed, lunging forward suddenly and jabbing at his chest with her lance. Her attack caught him off guard and he stumbled back, throwing his own lance up in defense. It only took a moment or two before he was on the offense, pushing his daughter to defend herself with her lance as he used his greater size to bear down on her. 

“You should be faster than me.” He swung at her, impressed as she blocked with her lance. “I’m an old man.” 

“Yeah.” Talking while sparring had never been something Byleth took any interest in and her silence seemed to unnerve her opponents. Jeralt twisted his lance under hers and wrenched it from her grasp, sending it flying before he smacked her across the ribs. “Ow.” One word as she accepted her defeat, face still expressionless. 

“You’ll be joining us on missions, soon enough.” Jeralt told her as she tossed her training weapon back into the pile. 

“You think?” 

“Yeah.”

It wasn’t long after that Byleth did accompany them on a mission. It had been more of an accident, Jeralt had hoped to keep her clear of real conflict for a bit longer - but the enemy had come to them. She had slain her enemies without hesitation and seemingly without remorse, moving through the battle like a phantom. 

It was both heartbreaking and relieving to see her as such. To see that she could defend herself at such a young age caused his chest to swell with pride, but knowing that he hadn’t been able to give her a normal childhood tore at him. But she couldn’t miss what she never had, and the girl never once offered a complaint or questioned him. She was devoutly loyal, the bond between them strong. 

That was what made him feel like a real father. That he could look at his daughter and know what she felt, while others struggled to find even a hint of emotion on her features. Features that looked so much like the mother she never asked about. 

There were times he thought to tell her of Sitri, nights where the ale was dark and the fire burned bright in their camp. When everyone else had gone to bed and just the two of them sat underneath the stars. But he could never do it. He was a coward, or maybe he was just still hurting. 

“Byleth. Are you … happy?” He posed the question on such a night, watching the way the flames danced across his daughter’s cheekbones. She was older now, she had to be in her late teens. Some of the men had started realizing she had a woman’s form, but Jeralt never worried about that. It made his skin crawl, to think of his men thinking of her that way, but she would do as she pleased. And he was certain that if someone were to do something she didn’t like, that his daughter would take care of it on her own with no hesitation.

“A strange question.” A strange question for a strange girl, he almost said, but refrained as Byleth shrugged. “Of course I am. What else would I be?” 

“You don’t wish for a normal life?” 

She fixed him with a steady gaze then, looking so much like her mother. “No. I don’t think normal would suit me. I think you gave me the right kind of life.” 

“You can’t miss what you never had  —” 

Byleth cut him off before he could finish his thought, as even keeled as ever, though he could hear a tinge of what he pegged as annoyance in her tone. “And I’m sure someone with my disposition wouldn’t be suited to a life other than this.” 

It was the first time that she had said such a thing to him and it caught Jeralt off guard. So she was aware that her lack of emotion was unnatural, but it was something she had never asked about and again, he was too cowardly to bring it up. To tell her the truth. He opened his mouth to speak, to blurt it out, but Byleth had already stood with and passed by him with a pat on the shoulder. Her own way of telling him she was off to bed for the night. Probably for the best. 

Nothing changed following their conversation, other than the lightness that Jeralt could feel in his chest. He felt better knowing that he hadn’t totally failed his daughter. She followed him to a pub after their training that day, wordlessly inviting herself as he left the camp and she kept pace next to him. 

“You know, after watching you eat I never had any doubt you were my kid.” Jeralt said between bites, watching as Byleth tore into a leg of meat with a careless ferocity. It didn’t bother her that she was tearing into her food with her canines like a dog, and Jeralt felt a rush of affection for his slightly feral daughter. 

“Was there ever any doubt?” She looked up at him, eyes shining with amusement and he laughed enough for the both of them. 

“No, never.” 

**Author's Note:**

> This is literally weeks late but love me anyway. 
> 
> Follow me on twitter @winryrockbae


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